The Guardian of Wistmans Wood
Warning: Treat with caution, watch what you say and check any wording in a written or verbal contract carefully.
There are places where the skin between worlds is thin. You feel a tingle along your spine, a prickling of your skin and a tang in the air, like the taste of ozone before a storm.
It is in these places that you’ll find such peculiar beings as the Guardian of Wistmans Wood: cloven feet, horns, a cape and a goatlike face- it’s no wonder people talk of devils and wild hunts in this part of Dartmoor.
The guardian lives in a cave beneath the roots of a contorted oak. When we arrived he didn’t come out straight away, but i could see the glint of his eyes inside the dark crevice.
‘I know you’re there,’ I said.
There was a rustling, then a low croaking laugh. He stepped out into the light.
‘Greetings, Bartholomew.’ His eyes flicked over Jesper and Thursday behind me, but other than that he didn’t acknowledge them.
‘Wistman.’ Those eyes make me uneasy.
‘How’s that soul of yours?’ He said slyly.
‘That’s not why we’re here-’
‘Ah yes, we have a contract to renew.’
And contracts with faeries are almost always sealed with blood.